


The Boy in the Mirror

by Sev1970 (mk_malfoy)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, General, Severitus, community: snarry_holidays 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-01
Updated: 2007-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/Sev1970
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severitus. Snape survives Nagini's bite and Harry finds out his mother had a secret. Are the two related? DH-Compliant but not epilogue-compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artisticentropy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Artisticentropy).



**Title**: The Boy in the Mirror  
**Author**: Sev1970/MK Malfoy  
**Word Count**: 17,000  
**Rating**: PG  
**Characters**: Severus Snape, Harry Potter  
**Warnings**: EWE, This fiction is a spoiler for DH. Light swearing -- two words to be exact, and they are tame.  
**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to JK Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros., etc.  
**Summary**: Severitus. Snape survives Nagini's bite and Harry finds out his mother had a secret. Are the two related? DH-Compliant but not epilogue-compliant.  
**Written**: October 2007  
**A/N**: Written for the the 2007 snarry holidays fic exchange for Artisticentropy (Yes, I was the only person to write a gen fic, or I think I was.) Thank you to RaeWhit and zippityfeets for their outstanding beta work -- you both are wonderful, amazing, talented, and deserve my thanks and hugs!

**The Boy in the Mirror**

_Voldemort_ _ was dead. Seventeen years after he'd murdered James and Lily Potter, it was over, and the man who had haunted their son, Harry, for so many years, lived no more._

**~*~ Prologue ~*~**

As Harry watched Hermione ascend the stairs that led to their dormitories, he closed his eyes briefly before turning back towards the fading fire. Birds were chirping in the distance; the first vestiges of daylight were encroaching upon the serenity of the room, and soon students would awaken and invade Harry's solitude.

What had hours earlier been a castle in turmoil, what was now a shelter from the storm, and what was soon to be the focus of the wizarding world was Harry's respite, and he needed it, needed to feel safe. As much as he had been unsafe hours earlier, now he felt as if no one could hurt him. He could have gone to the Burrow, but he had chosen to remain at Hogwarts, wanting to give the Weasleys time to grieve in private.

People were going to eventually want to see him and celebrate with him, and Harry knew there was little chance he'd be able to avoid that, but that was in the future -- this was now, and he wanted to be left alone. Exhausted beyond the point of clear thought, he wished nothing more than to go straight to bed -- a bed he had dreamt about for months -- but there was so much going through his mind, far too many thoughts, many of them from the past year, most of them from the past few hours.

He, Ron, and Hermione had spent a year of their lives ensuring that the murderer of Harry's parents would meet his end sooner rather than later, and their journey had brought them back to Hogwarts. What a night it had been. After everything the inhabitants of Hogwarts had been put through: the deaths, the injuries, the terror of not knowing what was about to happen to them, Voldemort had killed himself, unintentionally, yes, but dead he was.

Voldemort's death should have thrilled Harry, and on any other day, it more than likely would have, but on this somber morning, Voldemort's death gave Harry little joy. Fred's dying overshadowed everything. So many other things had happened, good and bad, but none of it meant much of anything.

What Harry needed was Dreamless Sleep, as that would be the only way he would get any rest, but Madam Pomfrey was busy with the injured students and Order members. Harry wasn't injury-free -- Voldemort's attempt at killing him the first time had resulted in quite the headache and some bruised ribs -- but compared to the other injuries he had seen, his were minimal. In any case, Harry wasn't about to bother the matron.

His eyes heavy, Harry looked around the common room. So many happy memories came rushing back to him. How many nights had he, Ron, and Hermione sat in this very room doing revision, and how many conversations had they had over the years? How many games of Exploding Snap and wizard chess had they played? The three of them had come here seven years earlier as children who knew very little about the world, and now they were adults who knew far more than they had ever wanted to know.

Looking at the chair Ron usually sat in, Harry shook his head and asked himself, for what must have been the tenth time, if any of this had been worth it. Fred and the others hadn't deserved to die; they had been trying to help Harry get rid of Voldemort. Fred had been so young -- at Bill and Fleur's wedding, it had been him talking about his wedding -- how it was gong to be simple. On that warm day in August almost a year earlier, Fred had had his entire life ahead of him, and now that life was gone; it seemed vastly unfair. Then there were Remus and Tonks. Teddy no longer had his mum and dad. Harry knew what that was like, and he would see to it that the boy grew up knowing how wonderful Remus and Nymphadora Lupin had been.

Ron had gone home with his parents. Harry was glad that the Weasleys were all together because they needed each other at such a sad time, but he needed Ron; he needed to talk, needed to tell someone how he'd felt when he thought he was about to die. He didn't want someone to tell him how he should feel; he only wanted someone to listen. Ron would've been the one Harry talked to about all of this. Hermione had tried soothing him, but it wasn't the same. She was a great friend, but she wasn't Ron.

Standing, Harry yawned and began walking towards the stairs when, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something flash in the fire…a person? Obviously, he was exhausted and his mind was playing tricks on him, so he blinked a few times and looked again…it was definitely not a hallucination -- it was a person -- it was _Snape_.

Harry walked the few strides it took to reach the fireplace and stuck his hands in and pulled on the body, which was not moving, but after a minute or two, Snape's soot-covered body fell onto the hearthrug -- he was unconscious. Harry spent a few seconds staring at the motionless body, not quite believing what he was seeing. Pulling himself together, he went to the stairs. He needed Hermione, but wizards weren't allowed in the girls' dormitory. Retrieving his wand, Harry performed the Patronus Charm and told Hermione he needed to see her in the common room. Looking back at Snape, Harry panicked. His exhaustion was so very near the surface, but he had to think, so he tried to calm himself.

Within a minute, Hermione was running down the stairs.

"What is it?"

"Snape, he was in the fire. He's unconscious," said an increasingly agitated Harry as he pointed to the body, not knowing what to do. After a few seconds, his and Hermione's eyes met, and Harry glimpsed the panic in his own eyes reflected in those of Hermione, and it was disconcerting because, no matter how dire the situation, Hermione had almost always been the voice of reason.

"I'm going to get Madam Pomfrey or someone else who can help; I'll be back," said Hermione.

Harry watched as she left, and then looked at the body of Snape.

"Don't die, Snape." He stared at the body, wondering how the man had got to a fireplace so he could Floo. Kneeling and reaching out his hand, Harry touched the two puncture marks on Snape's neck and, as he did so, Snape's body began to shake violently. Harry found himself shaking as well. Then Snape's body stilled. Harry leaned his head down to see if he could hear a heartbeat -- there was none.

_Come on, Hermione_.

Snape was going to die if someone didn't do something soon. Without thinking what he was doing, Harry found himself performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He had no idea if he was performing it properly, but he was mimicking what he had seen people on those medical programs doing. It had to work; Snape couldn't die. Harry continued to breathe into Snape's mouth and give him chest compressions, but nothing was working.

"You can't die." Harry looked down at the body, and felt sick. Snape was pale; blood covered his neck and robes, and his hair was matted with blood, some of it on his face and in his eyes, some of it in his hands. Harry didn't want to think about how much pain Snape must be in.

A cough. Another cough. Then Snape's eyes opened briefly, looking at Harry before closing once again.

"Professor? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes again?"

A barely discernible groan, but no other movement.

Harry took one of the pale hands in his -- it was cold. There was a weak pulse.

"Squeeze my hand, can you do that?" Harry was looking around frantically. Where was Hermione? Then he heard footsteps and watched as Hermione and Madam Pomfrey entered through the portrait hole.

"I need to sit there, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood and walked over to Hermione as Madam Pomfrey began working on Snape.

"Sit down, Harry. You look as if you're about to fall."

Harry allowed Hermione to lead him to a chair. He could feel himself trembling, and nodded his thanks when he felt a quilt placed around his shoulders.

"I thought he was dead when we left him. What if he has been struggling like this since we left? Oh Merlin, Hermione. He--"

"Harry."

"He can't d--"

"HARRY! Look at me."

Harry looked around Hermione and could see Snape's head -- he looked dead. When he felt fingers on his chin, he looked at Hermione and tried to focus on her eyes as he calmed himself.

"Harry, listen to me. Somehow, Professor Snape made his way to Hogwarts and then he found his way into the Floo and came here. He's going to be okay."

"But you don't know that." Harry then glanced at Snape again. How many times had he silently wished the man would drop dead? It was odd the difference a few hours made. When the night had begun, Harry would have gladly killed Snape for what he had done over a year ago, and now he was willing the man to live…to fight…to stay alive.

Snape had to live; no one else could die tonight.

"No, you're right, Harry, I don't, but I have to believe he came here for a reason. He's stubborn; he's not going to die without a fight."

**~*~ Part I ~*~**

Less than a week later, with Snape still in the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall made it clear that Severus Snape was sure to be a presence in Harry's life for the foreseeable future. She met with Harry in the Gryffindor common room and proceeded to tell him that Professor Snape would resume his position as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, albeit with restrictions due to his injuries. The Headmistress gave Harry a choice: either attend his regular lessons along with everyone else, or help Snape with his lessons, which would mean Harry would be Snape's full-time assistant.

What a choice: Snape or lessons, and neither one was appealing. Attending his regular lessons would probably prove far less stressful, yet the thought of not attending numerous lessons each day did sound appealing. Harry knew Snape would be difficult, but after a few minutes, he decided to help Snape, knowing this was what he would be doing regardless -- when had he ever been given a choice? Snape was injured and needed someone to ensure his safety. There were still supporters of Voldemort roaming around, and killing Severus Snape, a traitor, would inevitably be their number one goal.

As much as Harry dreaded the thought of close proximity to Snape on a daily basis, part of him looked forward to what was to come. As futile as it might seem, Harry would have a chance to talk to Snape about his mum. Despite the potential for information, however, Harry was pensive. Yes, he now looked at Snape through a different light, but Snape was still going to be Snape, and Harry was not naïve enough to think things would suddenly be different between them because of a few shared memories. It was better not to expect anything from Snape.

A week later, Harry left for the Burrow, and Hermione went to retrieve her parents in Australia. The next time Harry would see Snape would be when Hogwarts reopened in September, a bit worse for wear, and a few students fewer, but open it would be.

**~*~**

"You have no choice in this matter, Severus. You either allow Mr. Potter to assist you, or you do not teach. It is up to you, but you must be aware that once you leave the grounds of Hogwarts, you will no longer be under our protection."

"Yes, Headmistress, I am aware of that fact." Severus sipped his tea as he pondered this most undesirable development. When he had dragged himself to safety three months earlier, he had done so because he hadn't been ready to die. That had not changed, but neither did he want Potter to be looking over his shoulder at every turn.

Severus had seen a more mature Potter last year, the few times he had witnessed him from afar, and he thought perhaps the boy would no longer be as irritating to be around, but no amount of maturation or humility would erase the green eyes or the last name that the boy had been given at birth. "Mr. Potter has agreed to this arrangement?"

"He has," Minerva responded, her expression and voice making it clear that although Potter might have agreed, he had done so unwillingly.

"Poor Potter," Severus spat out, "he is the put-upon one, isn't he? Do tell me when he arrives so I might send a welcoming party."

"Come now, Severus, it is past time that you grew up. Lily Potter married James and they had a son -- Harry…Harry Potter. I realise it has been difficult for you, but we have all dealt with difficulties. You should be concentrating on yourself and getting better. If I recall correctly, the Healers at St. Mungo's have set some fairly stringent restrictions on your movements for the next couple of months."

Severus was not in the mood to be reminded about how bad his injuries were. "If there is nothing further, I will take my leave." Without another word, Severus left. How dare Minerva tell him how to feel and what to do. She had no clue what it was like to be him.

When Severus reached the dungeons, he walked straight to the Slytherin common room to check that it was in order. In less than four hours, his Slytherins would be congregated. Severus was no longer the Slytherin Head of House for obvious reasons, but old habits were hard to break. He saw that there were a few house-elves cleaning, so he left. Next, Severus went to his office and sat behind his desk, preparing himself for the new term. How were the students going to react to seeing him alive and teaching again? The Daily Prophet had helped to improve his image, but written words were just that. Regardless of his reception, however, Severus was here and he was not going anywhere unless he wished to be killed.

Touching the two healing puncture wounds on his neck, Severus stood and walked to his cupboard and removed a phial, one of many that lined the middle shelf, each one labeled as to when and how it needed to be taken. This one was for his nerves, which had been badly damaged, causing uncontrollable tremors.

It was this unfortunate side-effect that worried Severus the most, because holding a wand and performing with it was not as easy as it had been before. Thankfully, Severus was adept at Wandless Magic, but not everything could be done without a wand. Potions were now almost impossible for Severus to make, and that had been the most difficult aspect of this entire situation. Potions had always been his escape, and he had spent hours forgetting about his problems while inventing and making potions. Severus met with Kingsley Shacklebolt twice a week to work on his control, and it was improving, albeit slowly. Severus was hopeful that by the end of spring term he would be able to make Dreamless Sleep again.

**~*~**

Seated in between Hermione and Ginny, who were shielding him from unwanted questions from the younger students, Harry's eyes followed Professor Flitwick as he made his way towards the High Table and then drifted to the man seated beside McGonagall, the two seemingly involved in an animated discussion. Harry wondered if Snape was telling McGonagall there was no way he would allow Harry Potter to help him; it wouldn't surprise him.

Other than scarring on his neck, Snape looked to be the same Snape he had always been… only he wasn't. It was as if Harry were looking at a ghost; it was hard to grasp the fact that the man had lived. There was so much Harry had wished he could ask the man once he realised it was too late, and now that speaking to Snape was going to be a possibility, Harry was terrified.

As he looked around him at the other tables, Harry found it rather amusing to observe the other students' reactions upon realising that Snape was indeed alive. While a few faces looked indifferent, of course there were students who were making their displeasure known. But for a few memories shared three months earlier, Harry would more than likely have been among the students who were sorry to see the man had survived. That thought was sad, Harry mused, but truth was not always pleasant.

His attention once again turned towards Snape, Harry wondered how the man had survived. No one was talking, and Harry was under no illusion that this would change. All that mattered, he guessed, was that Snape was alive, and the how of it was unimportant. After seven years in the wizarding world, not much surprised Harry. He had witnessed and experienced the implausible and impossible, learning that with _his lot_, as his uncle had referred to them, most anything was not only plausible, but possible, so Harry guessed that there were any number of ways Snape could have survived.

As Harry moved the food around on his plate, he cast his eyes towards Snape every few minutes, hoping the man would look at him, but no such luck. Not that Harry had anything in particular to ask at the moment, but it was beyond ridiculous that Snape had fallen into the Gryffindor common room, had scared Harry and Hermione, yet now he ignored them. Yes, the man had never been nice, and Harry knew that was not going to change, but Snape was acting childish, and Harry wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and ask why he was being such a git.

"So what happened? Last I heard, he was in a coma."

"I heard that he died, and the Healers at St. Mungo's refused to work on him, so Madam Pomfrey brought him here."

"Mum said he has to use a cane to walk."

"Professor McGonagall said…"

Seeing that pudding and other savory delights had arrived, Harry began tucking into the Pumpkin Pasty he had picked up as he stealthily listened to the comments coming from his fellow housemates, wanting to hear what everyone else thought. He heard Hermione say something about there still being venom in Snape and that was what had caused the scarring. Apparently it was spreading, and to slow its progression, Snape had to take a special potion each day. How Hermione knew this, Harry had no clue, but he would ask her.

"Mr. Potter, a word?"

Nearly jumping as he set down the Pumpkin Pasty, Harry's breath hitched. Hadn't Snape been sitting down only seconds earlier? Harry felt his breathing speed up and his heart begin to beat faster. Glancing around him, he saw that most everyone was looking at the man standing behind him. A hand on his forced Harry to look to his right at Ginny. She was nodding. Harry gave her a curt nod, then turned his head and forced himself to look up.

Swallowing, he opened his mouth.

"Professor Snape."

"If you are finished, please come to my office, Potter."

Harry stood, and after looking at Ginny and Hermione, he followed Snape down to his office. Now that Snape was standing, it was easy to see that the man was in pain: his gait was much slower, his speech was somewhat laboured, his neck was scarred, and his right hand was wrapped in a bandage. As bad as Snape looked, Harry knew it could have been so much worse.

Once they were at the door of Snape's office, Harry watched as shaky hands pointed a wand at the door, and noticed that the man's entire body was trembling, not severely, but enough so that it was noticeable. Once inside, Harry was directed to a chair across from the desk and watched as Snape sat behind the desk, looking at him as if he were studying him.

"I have spent the past month choosing my next words, Potter, so I would ask that you not interrupt me."

A nod.

"I managed to get myself to your common room that night because I knew you would be there, and I knew you would see to it that I received the proper treatment. Do not ask me any further questions regarding what happened that night. Understood?"

Again, Harry nodded. He had no intention of adhering to what Snape was saying, but for now he would agree.

"Against my better judgment, you will be assisting me in my lessons, and while I am allowing this because I do not have much of a choice, I will not be a repository of information you can draw from regarding questions you might have concerning your mother. You have seen what I needed you to see; you do not need to know anything further. Let me be very clear, Mr. Potter -- what you saw of my memories will never ever be discussed. I realise you must have all of these wonderfully formulated, heart-warming questions for me -- save your time and breath, Potter. I have been given a second chance at life, and I do not intend on living in the past. I do not hate you, and I am almost certain you do not hate me. Let us leave it at that."

That was Snape, and Harry should have expected it. When had the man ever shown Harry any compassion? Yes, the man had saved his life time and time again, but there had been nothing compassionate about what he had done. Hell, it wasn't as if Harry even wanted compassion now; he only wanted answers, and damn it, his mum was dead and he wanted to know what she had been like. How would Snape feel if someone else had information about his mother but refused to tell him anything? At that thought, Harry had to stifle a laugh, because Snape probably didn't love anyone enough to want to know about them. "Fine." Harry stood, so furious that he was shaking. "Then we have nothing further to discuss." Harry would never understand how someone could be so bitter and utterly despicable. Leaving the office, Harry slammed the door. When he entered the common room, he brushed off Ginny's and Hermione's concerned looks and walked up to his room, where he found his Invisibility Cloak. He passed the two again on his way out of the common room, and ignored their questions as he went through the portrait hole.

Finding a side corridor, he donned the Cloak and went outdoors to the lake where he took off the Cloak and his shoes before sitting on the edge, his feet upsetting the formerly smooth water, sending ripples in every direction. Looking around at the grounds, everything was eerily still and quiet. Harry's last memories of the grounds of Hogwarts at night had been chaotic: bodies strewn across the grounds, dead and alive. The echoes of those cries, screams, and pleas resonated through the surrounding silence with a slicing sound so sharp it physically hurt.

Seeing the Giant Squid emerging from the depths of the moon-lit lake, Harry watched it, thinking the lake-dweller had a pretty nice life, not having any responsibilities.

"Hi, Harry."

Harry looked to his left and stared. Dennis Creevey was standing a few feet from him, and he was smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world. But how could he be smiling? His brother had been killed three months ago here… at Hogwarts.

"Er, hi, Dennis." Should Harry say anything about Colin? He figured he should, but what?

"Hi. I hope you don't mind me here. It was so loud inside and I just wanted to get away somewhere where it was quiet."

Harry nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't mind. I'm sorry about Colin." The smaller boy looked at him and let out a small laugh.

"My mum always told us that when we are passionate about something, we should do something about it. Colin did."

Wow. Harry didn't know what to say, or if there was anything proper to say after that. "So how are you? I'm a bit surprised your parents allowed you to return."

Dennis shrugged his shoulders. "I'm fine. It feels good to be here; Colin's here, so it's where I should be. Yeah, Mum and Dad didn't want me to return, of course, but I knew I had to be here."

Nothing further was said, and Dennis left a few minutes later. As he walked back towards the castle, Harry thought about what Dennis had said, not quite believing how well the boy seemed to be coping. Harry was a wreck -- losing Fred was something he would never get over.

Later that night as he lay in his bed, Harry's thoughts ran rampant -- Snape, Fred, Voldemort, Colin, Remus, Tonks… and back to Snape.

**~*~**

Sitting in his bed, glasses perched on his nose, Severus was reading, but what his eyes were seeing was not what his mind was thinking. For almost seventeen years, Severus had lived and taught at Hogwarts, and for the better part of that time, most of the staff had merely tolerated him, ignoring him when possible. Having been a Death Eater, this had been unsurprising, and Severus had quite liked his solitude. Now that his story was public domain, however, his fellow staff-members were apologetic, and volunteered their time to help him if he needed it.

Severus didn't want their time or help. He just wanted to live. Unfortunately for him, his injuries prevented him from being as independent as he would like. It wasn't going to be easy having his fellow staff-members and Potter help him, but if nothing else came out of this experience, Severus thought perhaps the other teachers would learn about not judging people so harshly, and the boy would learn that the wizarding world did not entirely revolve around him.

Setting down the unread book, Severus Summoned the six phials from his sitting room, drank the contents, then pointed his wand and put out the fire before trying to get in a comfortable position.

**~*~**

In between Snape's lessons, Harry walked by the lake, trying yet again to come to terms with the current state of his life. Being back at Hogwarts was not at all as it had been in previous years. Ron was now living in Diagon Alley with George, helping to run the joke shop, and all of Harry's other year mates had moved on with their lives… well, except Hermione. She of course had decided to return, but they all knew that had been her intention all along. Harry was back because he had been talked into it, but he did want to become an Auror, so that had been another reason for his now being where he was. Then there was Ginny….

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry had been miles away from what was going on around him, and the voice made him jump. Looking at the student who appeared to be a first or second year, Harry nodded. "Er, yeah, why?"

"Headmistress McGonagall asked me to give you this."

Harry took the parchment. "Thanks." Entering the castle, Harry felt alone as he looked around him and saw the small groups of students talking and giggling as they walked to lessons. They all looked so happy. Not so long ago, it had been him, Ron and Hermione huddled together. Harry opened the letter:

_Mr. Potter --_

_After Professor _ _Snape's_ _ last lesson of the day, please come to my office; there is a matter that needs to be discussed._

_Professor McGonagall_

First day of lessons and he was being called to the Headmistress's office. McGonagall had been giving him odd looks at breakfast. Harry had thought she was merely worried about him, but now he was wondering if it wasn't something more. With him it always seemed to be the case that there was something more.

**~*~**

After handing out the tests and telling the students to begin, Severus sat down at his desk and opened his bottom drawer, withdrawing two phials. After downing the foul-tasting concoctions, and allowing them to begin working, he studied his right hand, silently berating himself for the constant tremor he was witnessing. Sighing, knowing there was little he could do about his injuries, Severus looked at the students. Thus far, his classes had been well-mannered, and Severus knew he would have to thank Flitwick for that. McGonagall had told him that the Ravenclaw Head of House had gone to each of the houses last evening and had talked to the students. Severus refused to accept help from the teachers, but he would accept their respect, no matter if he deserved it or not.

Turning his attention to Potter, who was marking the first and second year papers, Severus studied him. The boy really did look like his father. McGonagall had been right: Severus did need to grow up, but regarding Harry Potter, Severus did not know if that was a feasible possibility. Severus would never get over losing Lily, and Harry Potter was the constant reminder of what a failure Severus had been.

**~*~**

As Harry neared the gargoyle after Snape's fifth year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw lesson, in which he and Snape had barely spoken three words to one another, McGonagall appeared as if out of thin air and beckoned him forward. After ascending the stairs, the two entered the circular study, and Harry sat in one of the chairs across from the large desk that seemed to dwarf the new Headmistress as she took her seat. Looking around him, Harry noticed that the room had changed little from the night Harry and Dumbledore had left to find the locket. Yes, he had been in this office not so many months ago when looking in the Pensieve at Snape's memories, but he had been exhausted and hadn't paid any attention to what Snape had done with the office, but knowing how Snape had venerated the Headmaster, even if he would never admit to it, Harry doubted Snape had changed it in any way.

There were still silver contraptions, although they were now on a shelf behind the desk instead of on the little tables they had been on previously; the hat was still on its shelf, and Harry's mind took him back to the moment Neville had pulled out the sword and killed Nagini. It had been unbelievable, but it had happened. Neville had later told Harry and Ron that he had been petrified when the sword materialized, but as scared as he was, he had known what he needed to do. Fawkes was of course absent, and the sword of Gryffindor, which had sat atop one of the shelves, was also no longer there. Harry looked above the desk at the portrait of Dumbledore, knowing the sword was safely ensconced within. The Pensieve must have been in the cabinet. Harry wondered if anyone had rebottled Snape's memories. He had told McGonagall where they were, and he knew she had viewed them, as well. After all, it had been the memories that had cleared Snape and saved him from a future in Azkaban.

Harry was brought out of his meandering thoughts when McGonagall handed him a letter. Harry took it, but hesitantly. There was something in his former Head of House's eyes that worried him.

"This was left to you by Professor Lupin," said a reticent Headmistress.

"Do you know what it is?"

"I have no idea what Professor Lupin might have left you, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded. There was something she was hiding, of that he was certain. Part of him wanted to wait until he was in his room to open the letter in private, but then he decided that as everything else in his life seemed to do, this would get back to the Headmistress, so he might as well open it in her presence. Slowly, he opened it and glanced at Professor McGonagall before looking down at the words written on the parchment.

_Harry,_

_I owe you an apology. Your mum asked me to give you this information on your sixteenth birthday, but since that was so soon after Sirius died, I decided to wait. Then I meant to give it to you on your seventeenth birthday, but that was so soon after Dumbledore's death, so I again decided to wait. So now it is your eighteenth birthday and I am finally giving this to you. Please forgive me for being so late._

_Please go to _ _Gringotts_ _ with the key provided (it will materialize) and ask that vault 1000 be opened for you. There is only one item within -- a letter._

_Remus_

Harry looked up at McGonagall. She did not look as if she were in a good mood, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"May I have permission to go to Diagon Alley, Professor? Professor Lupin left me a key to retrieve a letter from my mother that is in a vault." Had it been a year earlier, Harry would have never asked such a question. Students were allowed into Hogsmeade on certain weekends, but never was a student given permission to go to Diagon Alley. But Harry knew he needed to get this letter; his curiosity was eating away at him.

An hour later, Harry and Hagrid were standing inside Gringotts in front of vault 1000. It had been more than a bit weird walking into the same bank in which he, Ron and Hermione had broken into a vault, not that many months earlier, but not one goblin had looked at him with anything less than admiration. Quite to the contrary. They thanked him for ridding them of Voldemort. It was humbling, as well as somewhat disconcerting -- he had committed a crime, and had not got in trouble for it; it was eerily similar to when he had made his aunt blow up. Yes, he knew there were valid reasons for both situations ending without him being in trouble, but still, he felt uneasy because he seemed to get preferential treatment far too often.

When Harry entered the large vault and saw the one letter in the center, it was something of a shock -- why had such a small letter been placed in such a large vault? Not even the Philosopher's Stone had been placed in such a spacious vault.

Out in daylight again, Harry felt somewhat bad because he knew Hagrid was curious to know what was in the letter, but Harry wanted to be alone when he opened it, so he waited until he was ensconced within his bed, the curtains drawn. Opening the letter, his hands trembling, Harry was nervous, but he was also excited about what he was about to read.

_My dearest Harry_ _,_

_It is my most fervent hope that you never have to read this letter, but if you are, then something has happened and I am no longer alive, a fact which pains me because that would mean I am unable to watch you grow into the young man your father and I knew you would one day become. You are everything to us, Harry, and your father and I could not be happier. You bring us such joy, and no parents could ever be more proud._

_Now for the difficult part which I would love to keep from you, but that is not a possibility, so I will attempt to tell you what you need to know._

_Harry, not long after your father and I were married, Lord _ _Voldemort_ _ (you will have heard of him by the time I tell you this or you read this) attacked James's parents' house where we were living, and during the ensuing fight, it seems as though _ _Voldemort_ _ cast a curse on me, one which I had no knowledge of until months later when you were born. James was out of town when I gave birth to you, and when I saw you for the first time, you were the most beautiful baby, and had the darkest eyes, almost hauntingly so. They were beautiful, as I said, but they weren't my eyes or your father's. I loved you and no one was ever going to take you from me and James, but there was something strange happening, so I went looking for answers, and found them._

_It pains me to tell you this, my son, but James is not your biological father. _ _Voldemort_ _ impregnated me with the semen of one of his followers, a man who I was once close to._

_I was horrified of course when I discovered what had been done, and immediately placed a charm on you to make you appear as though you were James's son. It will last and no one will be able to break through it, but on your sixteenth birthday, it will begin to fade. If it was not for this fact, I would never be telling you this because you are James Potter's son - that man loves you so much, and you bring him such happiness. You might have the blood of _ _Severus_ _ Snape_ _ running through your body, but never doubt that you are James's son._

_I am sorry to say the charm can't be renewed. Please forgive me, Harry. I do not wish for you to have to go through this, and I do not wish for _ _Severus_ _ to ever discover that he has a son - it would be cruel for him to discover this._

_If you choose to seek out your biological father, his name, as I have already said, is _ _Severus_ _ Snape_ _. He has a house in Spinner's End. He is a Death Eater, my son, so be careful. He and I were once close, but he has led a sad life and it has led him down a dark path. Let me warn you also that learning you are his son might be a fate worse than death for _ _Severus_ _. He is good. I hate that he is your father, but it is not his fault. Had he known you were his son, he would have loved you - that, I have no doubt about._

_I am so very sorry, Harry. Please forgive me._

_Love, Mum_

Hands trembling, the letter now on the bed, his heart thumping so loud he thought it was going to burst, Harry stared at the letter. It was a lie. Harry was eighteen, and he still looked as he always had. Someone was playing a cruel joke on him. Snape was not his father. It had to be a joke. He was Harry Potter and what he looked like was the real him.

Deciding to not think about it for a while, he placed the letter in his bedside table, and then left his room -- Harry was now thankful that he had a room to himself -- and went to meet Hermione by the lake. The weather was becoming cooler, but it was still comfortable outside. Looking towards Hagrid's, Harry thought about going to see him, but decided that he and Hermione could both go after they ate.

Not surprisingly, Hermione was reading a book, and she had a notebook beside her filled with notes. She looked up when Harry sat down.

"The new Muggle Studies teacher wrote this; it's quite an intriguing read."

"I'll take your word for it. I have a question." Harry watched as Hermione looked at him worriedly. She knew him too well.

"Okay."

"Do you know much about performing complex charms to disguise people? I mean, I know that you can do Disillusionment Charms, and people can transfigure themselves or use Polyjuice, but I am wanting to know about charms that can last years. Is there such a thing?"

Harry could see that Hermione was in deep thought; she always loved a good riddle to solve. This was definitely going to be one riddle she would not soon forget.

"I've read about it, but nothing factual is known. It seems unlikely that a charm could ever be strong enough to change anyone permanently -- it just seems improbable -- the properties could never equal what is needed for a change that involved. Why are you asking?"

Harry knew the relief on his face was evident. If such a charm existed, Hermione would know about it, so it was looking as if the letter was indeed a joke…only Harry knew this was no joke. His mum had been very good in Charms. It had to be true -- Snape was his father -- it was so comical and devastating that it had to be true.

"It was something Ron and I were talking about the other day and I was just curious." Harry shrugged his shoulders and hoped he sounded truthful, but the look he was receiving from Hermione said otherwise. Regardless, Harry knew she would see the letter, probably sooner rather than later, because he needed to talk to someone about how he was feeling, and he needed someone to tell him there was no way this could be true.

**~*~**

Harry sat in the corner watching Snape lecturing to the fifth years about Patronuses, and for a few seconds, Harry thought Snape was going to produce his silver doe, and that got him thinking about Animagi, and more specifically, Snape's. Had he ever learned how to become one? And if he did, what would he be? Might he be a doe? And could he have transformed that night in the Shrieking Shack? Perhaps that was how he survived, but Harry would probably never know because Snape was being a git about it. All Harry knew was that Snape had looked dead to him, and here he was, explaining the methodology behind producing a Patronus to his students. It was still unsettling for Harry to watch Snape move around so gingerly. Gingerly and Snape did not go together.

Harry hoped he wouldn't be asked to produce his Patronus if Snape produced his. It would be awkward knowing Snape's Patronus was a doe, and that it was a doe because Snape had been in love with Harry's mother. It was just a bit odd.

He remained in the corner until Snape turned towards him after the last student had left.

"Next lesson I will show the students my Patronus; you and I will not be producing our Patronuses together; I am certain this does not need to be repeated."

"No, sir." Harry shook his head.

"See that you do not forget. Are you planning on becoming an Auror when you leave in June, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"You will continue to assist me with my lessons, and certain staff members will work with you to assure that you are prepared to sit your NEWTs, and that you meet the necessary requirements to be accepted into the Auror program. You and I will work on Defence. If it is thought that you are not grasping what you should, then you will be returned to your regular timetable. No matter that most of our world lavishes you with praise, becoming an Auror is an occupation you cannot hope to pursue if you do not grasp what you are taught. You will also be expected to have high marks."

"I will study; I know how important it is that I do so." Harry would have said more, but it would do him no good, so he all but bit his tongue so as not to speak. Harry was eighteen, so why did he feel eleven? Despite what Snape thought, Harry wasn't stupid. One day Harry would be an Auror, and he couldn't wait to see the look in Snape's eyes when that happened. There was so much he wanted to prove to everyone; he was who he was and nothing could change that, but he could prove that he was more than just a face.

"See that you do. Slughorn has taken a liking to you and I would hate to see him allow you to get by with minimum marks. Our citizens deserve the best protection."

Harry was furious. How dare Snape!

"Kingsley told me exactly what my marks need to be, and they will be above what is needed. No matter who I am, if my marks are not what he told me I need to make, I won't be accepted, and I resent you implying that I would place other people at risk. I want to become an Auror to protect people, not hurt them." Harry felt himself shaking. No one would ever be able to make him as angry as Snape did.

**~*~**

On the way down to meet with Professor Flitwick, Harry ran into Ginny, so they walked to the Entrance Hall together. Ginny was having a rough time of it, and she spent a lot of time these days talking to Hermione and her other girl friends, but she and Harry usually talked before they went to bed, and it was nice, sitting with her.

Harry's feelings for Ginny were still there, but it all seemed rather unimportant now. One day the two might end up together, and that would be wonderful, but for now Harry had so much on his mind, and that left little time for him to think about someone else, even someone as important to him as Ginny. Fortunately, Ginny seemed to feel the same, and it was nice not being pressured.

She left him in the Entrance Hall, and Harry was on his way up to the first floor when he saw Dennis Creevey seated by himself on one of the benches just inside the hall. He thought about going to see if anything was wrong, but decided not to, knowing there was nothing he could say to make things better for Dennis.

Anxious to speak to Professor Flitwick, Harry quickened his pace. If there was a charm like the one his mother supposedly performed on him, Flitwick would know about it. Harry reached the door to the Charms room, but there was a note saying Flitwick had an emergency and wouldn't be back until after dinner. Dejected, Harry left, wondering if he would ever know the truth.

By the time Harry sat down between Ginny and Hermione at dinner, he had decided to talk to them and show them the letter. He needed help, and more importantly, he needed to talk. Maybe Hermione would have some ideas about what he should do.

"What's got you looking so down?" asked Hermione.

"You and Ginny meet me in my room after you finish eating and I'll tell you. I'm not hungry."

When he reached his room, there was a parchment on his bed. Harry retrieved it and walked over to the window. The moon was visible, and the trees, almost invisible, were swaying in the breeze. Opening the letter, he sighed; it was from Snape.

_Mr. Potter - One of my students requires extra help in _ _Defence_ _ Against_ _ the Dark Arts. He will be your responsibility; the two of you will meet on Thursday evenings at seven. If this time is unsatisfactory, inform me tomorrow, and other arrangements will be made. – SS_

Snape requesting Harry to help someone was unsurprising; what was, was the lack of anything remotely inflammatory accompanying the request. Very curious.

Before Harry had time to ponder the request, there was a knock on his door and Hermione and Ginny entered, then plopped themselves down on his bed. Just seeing their faces calmed him, and made everything seem so much easier to bear. They would be an invaluable source of information and support, whatever the truth ended up being.

"So what's been bothering you, Harry? Is there anything Hermione or I can do to help?"

Harry opened his bedside table, took out the letter and handed it to Ginny.

"Read this." Harry sat in his desk chair and watched as Ginny and Hermione read it, pensively awaiting their reactions. Hermione gasped but then quieted down, and a few seconds later, Ginny looked up and stared at Harry, her eyes wide.

"You've got to be kidding." Ginny sat up and handed the letter back to Harry.

"Harry, he doesn't know, does he?" inquired Hermione.

"I haven't said anything to anyone yet; you two are the only ones. I need to know what you think I should do."

Harry spent the next hour listening to their thoughts. By the time the girls left, he was more confused than ever, but they had helped him decide what to do. He did wish he could get Ron's opinion about what to do, but he hardly thought this was the thing to write about in a letter. Harry knew Ron would have quite a bit to say about Snape possibly being his father, but that talk would have to wait.

After their initial disbelief, both Hermione and Ginny had been forthcoming with their ideas. Hermione had suggested to Harry that trauma was what might have delayed his appearance from changing, which did have merit. At the end of fifth year, Sirius had died, and Harry had been traumatized. Then at the end of his sixth year, Dumbledore had died, and that too had been stressful. And a few months earlier, Harry had seen Voldemort die…a much needed occurrence, but traumatic and stressful, nonetheless. Within two years, Harry had suffered at least three major losses. Of course there might be a completely different reason he had yet to change; he might never know the why of it.

Ginny had suggested Harry tell Snape as soon as possible because _if_ Harry's appearance did begin changing, that could be bad, which Harry agreed with. She had also said Snape would want to know and that he deserved to know because even though he hadn't known what Voldemort had done, Snape did have a son and deserved to know about him.

As much as Harry hadn't wanted to hear them telling him these things, Harry knew what they said to be the truth, and he was thankful they hadn't tried to pacify him by telling him things that he wanted to hear.

So he was going to tell Snape. It was a scary thought.

Looking out of his window again, Harry had to laugh. Tomorrow was the third day of classes, and he was about to tell Snape he had a son, and that said son was none other than Harry Potter. One thing was for certain: the upcoming three terms were going to be interesting.

**~*~ Part II ~*~**

Severus was finishing marking the seventh year essays when Potter entered the room and set his bag down on his desk. Looking up, Severus thought he sensed that the boy was bothered by something. Potter wore his emotions on his sleeve, and as frustrating as that was to Severus, it would serve the boy well in life in most situations.

"Are the times I indicated in my letter satisfactory?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Creevey will be pleased to hear that you are going to help him." Severus caught the small gasp. Yes, Potter would understand that Dennis Creevey would want nothing to do with Severus Snape.

"Sir?"

Severus gave Harry a curt nod, curious as to what he was about to hear.

"I need to talk to you, but it's not about the memories I saw, I promise. It's really important."

"I am rather busy, Potter, can we do this next week?" Harry seemed almost panicked. Severus was intrigued.

"I need to talk to you now, sir. If it weren't so important, I'd not be bothering you."

"Very well. Be at my office half an hour before dinner."

As with all things in Severus's life, something came up and he had to delay their meeting. As where in previous years he would not have cared if Potter seemed distressed, Severus was now curious about what the boy needed to discuss. Yes, Severus knew more than likely the impending meeting between the two was going to be about Potter's mother, and as he had already said to Potter, he would refuse to give him information. Even so, Severus could not help but feel somewhat regretful because it was evident the boy craved any piece of information, no matter how small.

**~*~**

Why were things so messed up in Harry's life? He had missed dinner, but he would go down to the kitchen later and get something from the house-elves, although he was not looking forward to doing that. He hadn't seen Kreacher since before he had gone to the Burrow, and he had put off seeing him, not wanting to be reminded of Dobby. However, Harry knew he could only delay the inevitable for so long. Pulling on his robes, Harry ran down the stairs for his lesson with Dennis. Hopefully he would be there, and then just maybe if he was lucky, Snape would be in his office afterwards, because Harry really needed to talk to him and didn't want to give the man another opportunity to brush him aside.

When he entered the room, Dennis was sitting on a stool, looking at a diagram on the wall. He looked so little. According to Snape, Dennis was in fifth year, but he was being supplemented with fourth year lessons as well, since he and Colin hadn't attended Hogwarts last year due to the stance on non-purebloods.

"Hi, Dennis. Are you ready?"

"Hey, Harry. Yeah, do I need my book?"

Harry pulled up a stool and sat across from Dennis. "Before you leave, I'll assign you some pages to read because I think it would help you to conceptualize what you are trying to accomplish. But for now, we'll do some practical work. I think Professor Snape said you seem to be hesitant about casting curses at people." No doubt the boy was terrified because it was a curse that had killed his brother.

"Yeah, I did everything else fine, but when it came to casting a curse, I couldn't. I don't want to do that, Harry. I know I have to for lessons, but it scares me."

"You didn't have a practical with Professor Snape, did you?"

"No, Some bloke named Shacklebolt came and tested me."

Harry grinned, but felt somewhat bad for Dennis. Kingsley had been the one who had implemented the new Defence strategies for Defence Against the Dark Arts, saying that every student needed a well-rounded education in Defence. Kingsley was an imposing figure, and Harry imagined Dennis had been more than a bit nervous around him.

"He's an excellent teacher. I'll have to meet with him and find out where you stand." Harry ran his hands through his hair, wondering how best to help his new charge. He stood and walked to the door.

"Follow me." When the two were outdoors, Harry led Dennis to the Quidditch pitch. After lighting the pitch enough so they could both see, Harry Summoned the Quidditch equipment and two broomsticks, opened the case, and removed the Snitch.

"How would you like to see if you can catch the Snitch?"

Harry mounted one of the broomsticks and watched Dennis's eyes light up. He had guessed correctly. Harry really did loathe all the attention he received, but he knew how much Colin had looked up to him, and Dennis was the same way. If Harry could get the boy to open up and trust him, perhaps he would better understand that if Harry Potter used defence, then so could Dennis Creevey. Harry wanted Dennis to realise that defence was not only about doing harm to others. It was likely what Dennis was suffering was a block, and his mind was simply protecting him. Regardless of what was wrong, Harry was confident he and Dennis would solve this problem.

Harry let the Snitch go, then took off, and saw Dennis do the same. After he counted to ten, Harry yelled for Dennis to locate it.

An hour later, the two walked back into the Defence room, sweaty, but Dennis was much more at ease than he had been sixty minutes earlier. Catching the Snitch had nothing to do with Defence, but if it had instilled some trust between him and Harry, then Harry knew it had been worth it. Harry told Dennis to read chapter three of _Advancing __Defence__ Strategies_, then dismissed him. He had gathered his copy of the book he and Dennis were going to use, and was about to leave the room when Snape entered.

"Where is Mr. Creevey?"

"I dismissed him early; I don't think it should take too long to get his confidence up."

"Let us hope you are correct in your assumptions, because if you are not, he will have to be removed from my class. I cannot afford to have inattentive students. If you do not have other pressing obligations, we will now discuss that matter you seem to think is so important."

What an enigma Snape was. There was almost always some credence to what the man said, but did he have to be so mean-spirited about it? Just when he seemed to be the slightest bit cordial, he had to ruin the moment by being a complete and utter git…a git who was probably Harry's father.

"Yeah, we do need to talk," Harry said as he studied the man before him, trying to guage his mood, although that was pointless. Snape could be in the best mood ever…if that was even possible, yet once he found out what Harry was about to tell him, that would change, and Harry didn't know if he wanted to open himself up to ridicule and who knew what else.

Harry had been asked to do so much, and he had done it because it had been the right thing to do, but this -- thinking Snape might be his father, and having to tell the man -- was almost more than Harry could face. But, he was an adult now and, as such, he would face this. What was the worst that could happen? Snape could turn him away, and he could yell at him. Neither thing would be new to Harry, so why was he so concerned?

Harry sat back down on the stool and watched as Snape sat behind his desk. Snape didn't look angry, but neither did he look like he was ready to hear he might be Harry Potter's father.

There was a knock on the door, and Snape pointed his wand and opened it. Professor Slughorn entered and handed Snape a goblet.

"Thank you, Horace."

Harry watched as Slughorn nodded, then as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Slughorn had noticed Harry was there, but he hadn't acknowledged him. Harry had the distinct impression that the man didn't like to be around him, despite the fact that Snape seemed to think the Potions teacher had taken an interest in him.

Watching Snape drink from the goblet, it occurred to Harry that this was probably what Hermione had talked about -- the potion he had to drink to prevent the venom from spreading.

"Now, let us talk. There will be no further interruptions," said Snape as he pointed his wand and locked the door.

Snape sounded almost cordial, but his looking at Harry as if he were about to hear some earth-shattering information, was disconcerting. Harry had to stifle a snort. He was about to rock the man's world, and not in a good way, either.

Everything in Harry was screaming for him to get up and leave. How could he do this? But he had to. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he pulled out the letter from his mother. He felt himself shaking. He had to do this. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed and held out the letter in his hand. He had contemplated reading it aloud, but he knew there was no way he could do that in front of Snape.

"Yo-you should read this." Snape grasped the letter and looked at Harry. Harry nodded, knowing Snape had noticed him shaking. "Just read it." Oh Merlin.

"Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. What else could he do?

"Please, read it." Never in his life had Harry been so nervous, or so near tears without allowing them. He began to stand, to run out of the room, but instead he shut his eyes, awaiting the inevitable tirade. His hands were clutching the edges of the stool, his knuckles white.

Hearing a gasp, Harry forced his eyes open. Snape was still reading the letter, but his hands were trembling, much worse than usual.

**~*~**

No, there was no way this could be possible, absolutely not…but, it was Lily's handwriting, and she would never have written such a thing had it been untrue. He had a son? No. Severus begged for this not to be true, pleaded that no one could be this cruel. He of course knew there had been someone this cruel. He had served under him and, at one time, he had even believed in him. Now Severus wished the man was alive again so he could kill him and show him how merciless his former servant could be.

"How did this letter find its way into your possession, Mr. Potter?"

"My mum had it in a vault at Gringotts."

"You look nothing like me, Potter."

"I am aware of that, sir."

"Come with me." Severus saw the confusion on Harry's face, and there was a small part of him that felt bad for the boy. "If this is indeed true, then we shall find out. As soon as I take my potions we shall see about what this letter says."

Severus called a house-elf and had his potions brought to him. Downing them all, he closed his eyes for a few seconds, and only reopened them when he began to feel better "Very well, follow me."

**~*~**

Calm. Snape was sounding much too calm, much too detached, and Harry didn't wish to go anywhere with him, but he followed him, and when he realised where they were headed, a chill ran through him. When they stopped, Snape knocked on the door, and when it opened, he turned and beckoned Harry in, then followed him.

Harry sat in a chair Snape pointed to, and stared straight ahead. There was little doubt why they had come to Flitwick's office, and it terrified Harry. He heard Snape and Flitwick speaking, but all he could think about was that he was about to see what he looked like underneath the charm his mother had performed on him. Harry wanted to protest, to say no way was he doing this. What if he couldn't look like himself ever again?

"Harry?"

Harry forced himself to calm down and to look at Flitwick, who was looking at him worriedly, just as Snape had done earlier. All he could do was nod.

"Professor Snape wants to reverse the charm, but this is up to you. I can tell you that what the letter says is the truth, because it was I who helped your mother perform the complicated charm."

"My mum wrote that letter, Professor," Harry said as he turned to look directly into Snape's eyes. "If you don't believe what she wrote, then that is not my fault, just as it is not my fault any of this is happening. My mum wanted me to look like James Potter, so until the charm fades or does whatever it's going to do, you'll just have to take my mum's word for it."

Snape glanced at Flitwick. "I have a right to know the truth if he is my son."

"As I have already said, the letter is legitimate, and Severus, you are not the only one in this situation. Lily struggled with her decision to implement this complicated charm, because she knew that one day all of this would be discovered, and she knew people would be hurt. I see she was not mistaken in her assumptions."

Standing, Harry gathered his composure and forced himself to look back at Snape.

"It's all about you, isn't it? You want to see what I look like, to see if I look like you. You want to see your son, and you want to disrupt my life. But you refuse to tell me anything about my mother, and you have always acted like you don't think I'm worth the dirt on my trainers, yet you found me that night because you thought I would make certain you were safe. So you seek me out when it's convenient for you. I guess you were only using me; is that it?"

Snape did not respond -- his face impassive as ever. Harry turned towards Flitwick.

"Why haven't I changed, Professor Flitwick?"

"I don't rightly know, Mr. Potter, but it could be that when Voldemort took some of your blood, it reinforced the properties of the charm your mother and I cast."

Harry nodded. It made sense, or as much sense as any of this made.

**~*~**

Harry went straight to Hermione, asking her if there was any way he could see what he would look like without reversing the charm. It sounded futile, but Harry was desperate. The following day, after hours of looking through every known book on charms that Hogwarts had, Ginny found a possible solution. It was somewhat complicated, but after studying it carefully, Hermione said she could do it. A couple of hours later, the three found themselves in the Prefects' bathroom.

"Are you certain that you want to do this?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah."

**~*~**

Severus sat by the lake, the only light, the moon and stars. Was Harry Potter his son? Severus didn't want it to be so, and he had been furious and in complete denial; he couldn't grasp how Lily had made such a decision, knowing how much she would be hurting him. Hadn't he deserved to know he had a son? Yes, he had all but loathed the boy for seven years, but had he known -- had Lily told him -- then Severus would have known he had a son, and he would have treated him accordingly. He would have never returned to the Dark Lord, and he would have raised Harry with love. No, Severus hadn't been reared in a loving household, but he would have done the best he could have for his son.

Severus had loathed Harry because the boy had been the eleven-year-old that should have been his son, not James's. Harry Potter was Severus Snape's son. Harry Potter was his son. Severus stood and looked towards the castle, shaking his head, his entire body trembling worse than ever.

**~*~**

Sitting by himself eating breakfast, Harry stabbed at his eggs. This was a nightmare. There was no way he could ignore Snape, and he knew what the man wanted. It was likely Snape cared less that he had a son; he just wanted to see what a son of his would look like.

He looked like Snape.

He was Harry Potter.

Letting his fork fall to the plate, Harry stood and departed the Great Hall. He needed to talk to Ron, but that was not possible. Instead, he settled for a walk to Hagrid's. As always, Hagrid was happy to see him, but Harry could tell that Hagrid was worried about him, probably thinking that he was still upset about Fred, which he was -- now he just had another situation to worry about. Harry really wished he could tell Hagrid what was bothering him, but that was not a conversation the two would be having.

"What's got you all hot and bothered, Harry?"

"Nothing. I just miss Ron, is all." Even to Harry that sounded weak, but thankfully Hagrid did not call him on it.

"He's bein' a good brother and is helpin' George. "'Ow is he doin'?"

"Not too good."

Harry stayed for a while longer. Thankfully the conversation changed to happier subjects, and by the time Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, he was not feeling as down as he had been.

**~*~**

Harry sat on the stool in Snape's office, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It was who he was. He was Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. He wasn't anything wonderful to look at, but he liked being short, and he liked his messy hair. He liked that he wore glasses like his dad had. He liked that Harry Potter was the boy in the mirror.

How could he do this? How could he give up whom he had known for his entire life? But he was going to lose this identity sooner or later, regardless of what he wanted, so was it better to do it now and not have to wait? No, it wasn't.

Snape walked into the office. Harry stared ahead at his reflection, watching as Snape retrieved several phials, then as he downed the contents before turning to look at Harry, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Harry?"

Harry sighed. So he was Harry now, and no longer Potter. It was unsurprising, but it made him angry to think that as Harry Potter, he had been someone Snape hated not so long ago. Now he was Snape's son, and Snape's feelings had changed. Yes, Harry knew that was expected, but it seemed unfair. What had Harry ever done to the man? It had been his mother who had hurt him, not Harry. It was almost comical how a few days earlier, Harry could have cared less that Snape hated him and had treated him so harshly. Now that the man appeared to be his father, everything had changed, and no matter how much he had always wanted his father to be alive, he hadn't envisioned this outcome, and he didn't know if he could ever accept it. He belonged to James Potter, not Severus Snape.

"Do you want to see who I look like?" Harry watched through the mirror as Snape stared at him, his mouth slightly open, his usual blank or dour expression absent.

"You do not need to do this, Harry. I need no proof. You mother composed that letter and she would not lie."

Snape looked withdrawn and his hands were still trembling rather badly, but his voice sounded very different - it was soft and sad. Harry didn't know what to do.

"This is who I am. If I am your son, then I am your son, but this is who I am, Professor. I'm going to change one day, but I want to be the me I know for as long as I can. Can you understand?" Harry was terrified, but not for himself, oddly enough. He was petrified of hurting Snape, and that was such a weird feeling to have. But Snape had been through so much. Harry was going to hurt him, but he couldn't help it.

Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated, probably more than he ever had before, and repeated the words Hermione had given him. When he opened his eyes and looked down, he was still himself, but when he looked in the mirror, he was a younger version of Severus Snape and Lily Potter combined. His hair and eyes were as black as Snape's, but his nose and mouth were his mother's. His hair was short, and he was the same height as Snape. When he smiled, it was his mother's smile that Harry remembered from the Mirror of Erised. Looking at Snape in the mirror, Harry said nothing, just watched as the man looked into the mirror, seeing his son for the very first time. It was such a private moment and Harry felt as if he were invading Snape's privacy.

Feeling his strength weakening, Harry withdrew the magic and his reflection as Harry Potter returned. Snape was still staring at him.

"I have a son."

"Yeah, I guess you do."

**~*~**

Severus sat on his bed, staring ahead at nothing. He had done so many horrible things in his life, and he had deserved to die when Nagini bit him. There were so many sins he needed to atone for, and the biggest one of all was the way he had treated Harry. Even if Harry wasn't his son, which he was, there had been no provocation for such childish treatment on Severus's part. He was the adult, yet he had acted worse than a child. He had hated his own son for almost seven years.

Getting out of bed, Severus walked to the bathroom and washed his face. Looking into the mirror, he looked at himself, and loathing for himself crept up. How would he feel if someone else were asking him to change his identity? Snarky, hateful, withdrawn and ugly -- those attributes were the person that Severus Snape was. If he woke up tomorrow morning and saw another person staring back at him when he looked into his mirror, he would miss the reflection that was staring back at him tonight.

**~*~**

Harry started to walk into the classroom, but stopped when he heard voices. Snape and Dennis were sitting on Snape's desk, talking. Harry almost did a double take. Backing out of the room, he shook his head.

When Harry walked in ten minutes later, Dennis was seated in his usual desk, and Snape was at his desk, marking papers.

"Ready for a game of Exploding Snap, Dennis?" Harry asked. Dennis shook his head.

"Professor Snape told me he thinks I am ready for practical lessons now; he says I've improved."

"I think my exact words, Mr. Creevey, were: if you applied yourself in your practical work, you would improve, but if you continue to appease Mr. Potter's need to flaunt his talents, then I daresay you will never improve."

And it had been said in all seriousness. Harry glared at the man, and then looked at Dennis.

"I think we'll wait until tomorrow evening to begin your practical exercises. We could meet at the same time. Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, tomorrow night at seven then. Why don't you read chapter twelve and write me a foot-long essay on the benefits of defence, and how the lack of defence can hurt us."

When Dennis left, Harry sat in the recently vacated desk and looked at Snape, wishing the man was easier to talk to.

"You are an open-book, Harry. You have questions? As you can see from the volume of essays that await marking, I am not going anywhere for the next few hours. What is on your mind?"

"Will you please tell me about my mother?"

"No."

"But--"

"But nothing, Harry. I said this was off-limits, and I meant it. Son of mine or not, your mother is not something I wish to discuss."

Harry stood and felt himself shaking. "My mother was not a something. She was my mother, and she loved me. Voldemort killed her because you told your master about the prophecy. She didn't deserve to die. She deserved to raise me and see what I turned out to be. Whether I was your son or James's, it didn't matter. She would have loved me no matter what. It's not fair that you got to know her, and I never did. It's just not fair."

Harry had meant every word, but he knew he shouldn't have said what he had about the prophecy; he could see that his words had affected Snape because the pale injured hand was trembling worse than ever. But, Harry was so mad, and he wanted to hurt Snape. Turning towards the door and away from the piercing stare of Snape, Harry walked out of the room and slammed the door, then made his way up to Gryffindor Tower and his room. Not five minutes later, Ginny entered and sat on his bed.

"Want to talk about it?"

"He won't talk about my mum with me, Gin. It's not like I want to know a lot, I just want to know about her, is that so bad?" Harry felt soft fingers as they were placed under his chin, and his head turned to meet Ginny's eyes.

"Professor Snape loved your mum, Harry, and I think it hurts him to talk about her."

"Yeah, she was my mum, and it is hard for me to think that I never got to know her and other people did. He's my father, for Merlin's sake. Why won't he talk to me? Why, Gin?"

"You told me that you saw memories of Snape crying, yeah?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Tell me, Harry, what is your absolute worst memory?"

Harry thought about this for a few minutes. There were several that came to mind, but there was one that haunted him.

"Fred dying."

"When you are alone, and when you think about that night and what happened to Fred, don't you cry? And don't say you don't because boys aren't supposed to cry. Remember, I've seen you cry."

Harry nodded.

"Harry, it's so recent for you. Snape lost your mum a long time ago. Don't you think it eats away at him that she died and he had something to do with it? Snape would do anything for you, and don't laugh. He is your father, and anything you asked of him now, if it were in his power, he would probably do it, but this one thing, sweetie, I don't think he can talk about your mum with you. I think it would be the undoing of him."

"He can cry in front of me, Gin. I wouldn't think anything of it. I just want to know what she was like. Is that so bad?" Ginny pulled him into a hug, and Harry held on as if Ginny were his lifeline.

"When Snape is ready, he'll talk to you. Don't push him, Harry."

**~*~**

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend. Harry, Hermione and Ron sat in the Three Broomsticks, sipping on butterbeers, talking about the joke shop and what Hogwarts was like post-Voldemort. It was so nice talking; it was like old times.

When Harry told Ron about Snape being his father, Ron merely shrugged his shoulders, telling Harry how sorry he was, joking with him, and agreeing with Hermione and Ginny, who had come over to their table, that Snape would talk to Harry when he was ready. Harry had an idea that Hermione had already told Ron, but he was happy she had because Harry didn't think he could have dealt with Ron reacting any other way than he had.

Later that evening when Harry entered his room after returning from Hogsmeade, there was a letter on his bed. Harry opened it and saw Snape's scrawl. Lying across the bed, he began to read.

_Harry, your mother was my best friend for five years. We loved each other and told one another our darkest and deepest secrets. She was beautiful and outgoing, yet she chose me -- _ _Severus_ _ Snape_ _. I would have done anything for Lily, Harry, but I failed her. When she did ask me to do something for her, I failed and it cost me her friendship, and later, your parents, their lives. Your mother never treated me less than wonderful and I repaid her by having her killed. Harry, I killed your mother. The one person I loved, I killed. I want you to know her as I did. I want to tell you about her dreams and what she thought about children. There is so much I want to tell you, but it hurts. Please understand. I am trying. I have a son with Lily Potter! I am so sorry that the Dark Lord did such a horrific thing to your parents, but I have a son. That scares me, Harry, but I do want to get to know you, and I would like you to know me. I just do not know if that can ever happen. Please understand. – SS_

**~*~**

Three months into term found Harry sitting on Snape's desk, watching Dennis as he produced his first Patronus, which was a lamb, a profoundly perfect representation of the fifth year. It was currently making its way around the room, and Dennis was grinning from ear to ear. Harry could hardly blame him, remembering the first time he had produced his Patronus - it had been such an overwhelming feeling.

"Well done, Dennis. I knew you could do it."

"Bloody brilliant, that was. And they can really protect you from Dementors?"

"Yep, they can. They are also used to send messages. That useful bit of information is not usually taught until seventh year." Harry wondered if he had been taught about using Patronus's for sending messages in a normal setting during lessons, if there would have been Patronus's running rampant around Hogwarts; it was certainly an amusing image.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I understand now. Thanks for helping me."

Harry smiled and stood, picking up the book beside him. Dennis would probably never excel in Defence, but Harry thought the younger boy had probably taught him more than Harry had taught Dennis. Trust was important in all aspects of life, and instilling trust and belief in others was important. Through helping Dennis, Harry had also discovered that his returning to Hogwarts had not been a mistake. He had made a difference in someone else's life. Oh and yes, he had also discovered that Severus Snape was his father.

After Dennis left, there was a knock at the door. Opening it. Harry found Slughorn standing there with a goblet -- Snape's.

"Is Professor Snape here?"

"No, sir. He's in a meeting with Professor McGonagall."

"He must drink all of this as soon as he returns."

"Yes, sir."

Slughorn gone, Harry set the goblet on Snape's desk and sat in the desk he had adopted as his own. He had planned on reading the latest essay Dennis had written, but instead his thoughts were on Snape, and his health. How sick was he? Was the poisonous venom going to slowly kill him as the curse and poison had done to Dumbledore?

Hearing the door open, Harry looked up and watched as Snape made his way to his desk, picked up the goblet and drank the potion.

"Why are you staring at me, Harry?"

"Sorry, sir."

"It is not pleasant-tasting, but along with my other potions, it allows me to maintain some semblance of a life, so I can hardly complain."

Snape was about to mark papers because he had just put on his glasses. Harry thought this was probably his cue to leave.

"Sir?"

"Severus, Harry," said an exasperated-sounding Snape.

And the man sounded as if this wasn't the first time he had asked Harry to address him as such. Harry withheld the remark he wanted to make. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Will you have to drink that potion for the rest of your life?"

Snape looked up and removed his glasses, setting them on the desk.

"Nagini's venom has filled my blood with an agent that renders my oxygen levels low. Without the potion, I would die, Harry."

"So if you take it, you'll be okay?"

"I have lived this long, so it is probable you won't be able to get rid of me that easily."

Harry frowned. His worrying about Snape was still such an odd sensation, but the man was his father, so Harry knew this was not something that was going to change -- he didn't want anything bad to happen to the man who had already been through so much.

"Harry, I don't plan on going anywhere, but I refuse to sit here and tell you I am going to live for a long time, when I have no idea when my time to die will come."

Who knew Snape cared? "I'm going go meet Ginny; see you tomorrow." Harry turned and walked to the door.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around. "Yes?"

"I plan on being around for a long time. As disagreeable as I am, and as much as I would have been an ill-prepared father, I rather think I'd very much like the opportunity to be a grandfather, no matter my current disposition regarding this new revelation."

**~*~**

Severus stood at the door, watching Harry write his essay for Charms. On the desk next to Harry's, Severus saw a stack of parchment, and smiled. Harry really did want to be an Auror, and he had not complained about all the extra work he had been given. Severus almost felt bad that everyone had given Harry such a heavy work-load, but he knew Harry was one of those people who needed to be busy. So much had happened, and although time was a salve, it wasn't a healer. Harry still fixated on Fred's death, and Severus had yet to find a way to help Harry deal with the latest loss he had suffered.

For obvious reasons, Severus had been hesitant to bring up Fred with Harry; it had been Severus who had cursed George's ear off and, even though the curse had been sent to prevent Lupin's death, it was still a permanent condition, and Severus felt remorse for what he had done. Regardless of his own guilt and shame, he would force himself to talk to Harry about Fred; it was his duty to do so.

It was still difficult, realising that he had a son, but Severus had come to terms with the fact that he had to change, for Harry. He was trying, but he didn't know the first thing about how he needed to act or what he needed to do. Fortunately, his son was an adult, but still, Severus did feel as if he should try to be there for Harry. One thing he had decided was that he did not need to see the boy Lily had given birth to. Harry was the boy sitting a few feet from him, and Severus was fine with that. He knew that at some point, his son would change, but he was not looking forward to that so much anymore, because the boy he would change into was not who Harry wanted to be.

Walking in, Severus sat down across from Harry and cleared his throat.

"I thought you could use a break; I brought you something." Severus reached into his cloak and took out the photograph he had gone to retrieve. "I think this belongs to you." When he handed it to Harry, the change in Harry's face was immediate, and Severus saw the sadness in those green eyes, even as a grin spread across his face.

"Thank you, but you should keep it."

"No, it's yours, Harry. I have memorized it." And Severus had. All he needed to do was close his eyes and he saw Lily, and he could even hear her laughing and speaking to James and Harry. He knew she had been happy. He had always wanted her to be happy.

"Thank you for always looking out for me."

Severus nodded, allowing the thanks Harry had given him to wash over him. A promise he had made long ago had seemed senseless after Lily had died, but now Severus thanked Merlin that he had continued his protection of Harry. He allowed a small smile as he watched his son study the picture.

**~*~**

Harry sat beside the lake, looking at the smiling face of his mother. She was looking at something -- something which Harry knew was him and his dad because he had the other half of the photograph in his room, still in the pouch that Hagrid had given him last year. Harry couldn't take his eyes off of the picture. His mum was so pretty, and she looked so happy. The three of them had been happy, Harry had no doubt about that, and he was sad that he had no memories of those days. He had no memories of his mum or dad, but he had a father now, and as confusing as it all was, Harry wanted to believe that he and Severus would be okay.

**~*~**

Christmas was three days away, and Harry and Ginny were helping Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. It was so nice being at the Burrow for Christmas, but it was bittersweet because Fred wasn't there. George and Ron had arrived a few hours earlier, and seeing George without Fred was so sad. Seeing George made Harry forget about his minor problems.

"Harry, dear, what is Professor Snape doing for Christmas?"

"Er, I don't know. Probably staying at Hogwarts."

"Why don't you invite him to have Christmas dinner with us? We are going to have plenty and I want to let him know that he will always be welcome here."

Harry's heart swelled; they were doing this because of him. Severus Snape was a difficult man who found it nearly impossible to get along with anyone, but the Weasleys were going to overlook that fact because Harry was the man's son. It had been less than four months, and Severus certainly had continued his snarky ways that drove Harry mad, but Harry was beginning to think that having the man in his life might not be as horrible as he had once thought.

That evening, Harry used Pig to owl Severus, and asked him to spend Christmas day with them. Much to Harry's surprise, Severus accepted. Harry wanted everything to go well.

For the next two days, everyone cleaned and prepared, Harry and George cleaning out the attic where the ghoul had reestablished residence. Harry never mentioned Fred, but George did, often. Ron had written Harry a few months earlier, telling him that George talked about his dead twin constantly. It bothered Harry, but he tried his best to listen. He knew that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley did not speak of Fred much at all, and that was not healthy either, but it was difficult, hearing George talk about his twin in the past tense -- it made it all too real for Harry.

Christmas Eve found all of the kids around the table, talking, when George began reminiscing about Fred, and how last Christmas had been so tense because Ron, Harry and Hermione had been away. Harry was close to breaking for so many reasons, so he left, not being able to face it any longer. He left the Burrow and found a secluded spot where he could think. He watched the sun set and the moon become brighter.

"Harry?"

"I want to be alone." Harry watched as Severus sat beside him.

"Harry, Fred is gone, just as Lupin is gone, just as Nymphadora is gone, just as Colin is gone. We lost some really fine people that night, and the losses will be felt until we die. It is normal to feel sad that they are gone, and it is also normal to talk about them; it helps to keep them alive in our memories."

Harry glared. "Like you do with my mum?" Harry was not playing fair, but he was upset and angry. Severus walked away and left Harry to his thoughts.

When Harry walked into the house a few hours later, Severus was seated at the kitchen table, talking to Molly. She was telling him something about how everything would work out. Harry doubted that. He entered the kitchen and looked at Severus. "I'm sorry. I didn't have any right to say that. It was unfair of me."

"Harry, please sit down; we need to talk," said Severus, his voice sounding resigned.

Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley left the room, and then he sat across from Severus.

"I'm listening." Harry wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Your mum's dream was to open a book shop in Diagon Alley. We would spend hours talking about it. She was passionate about reading, and no one could dissect a book or a poem like your mother. I've not met anyone to match her passion, and I doubt I ever will."

Harry nodded. He didn't like to read so much. It was somewhat disconcerting, since both his mum and Snape loved reading.

"I don't like to read much. Pathetic, yeah?"

"With your Muggle family treating you as they did, it is unsurprising you do not enjoy reading, Harry. It is never too late to start."

Harry didn't miss the look in Snape's eyes -- it was a suggestion, one Snape would no doubt nurture.

"Thanks for telling me this. It helps to know what my mum liked to do. Don't know why, but it does."

"You don't need a reason for wanting to know more about your mother; she was an amazing woman. I'll tell you more later. For now, Mr. Weasley appears to be trying to get your attention."

**~*~**

"Severus, Harry is like a son to us and we want what is best for him. We know what really happened last year, and Arthur and I are firmly in your corner. We wish you all the happiness, but if you hurt Harry, you will have eight people standing in line to make certain you pay for making him sad. He has been through so much."

"Molly and Arthur, I have no idea what is going to happen. Harry and I seem to be doing fine at the moment, but as was just proved to me, we have a long way to go. Harry is an adult and can make his own choices now. Whether he allows me to be a part of his life is his decision, and I will not influence that. You are his family; you have been there for him, and I know you will continue to do so in future. You have my word that I will never hurt him."

**~*~**

Harry sat on the camp bed in Ron's room and looked through a book as Ron continued to ask him questions about Hogwarts. This -- the two of them talking about nothing important -- was what Harry had missed the most. For the majority of term, Harry had kept to himself or hung around with Hermione and Ginny. It had been more difficult than Harry had thought it would be, being back in the castle, and the memories had plagued his sleep. He and Ron together again was like old times, and Harry didn't think anything would ever match the fun he had with Ron. No matter that Severus Snape was his father, and no matter that Harry was confused about so many different things, sitting here with Ron made it all seem bearable.

**~*~**

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

Opening his eyes, Harry blinked a few times and rolled over and pulled the duvet over his head, but the cover was yanked off him.

"Wake up and open your presents."

"Gah, Ron, you sound like a little kid." Harry sat up and yawned, looking at the end of his bed at his pile of presents.

"On Christmas morning, I am a kid."

Harry grinned. So was he.

**~*~**

Severus sat at the table, looking at everyone around him. Sitting in the Weasleys' dining room, eating Christmas dinner with them was very different from what Severus had thought he would be doing for Christmas. He knew it was because of Harry, and that made him prouder than anything. He had no illusions about what people thought of him, but knowing that these people loved Harry enough to invite Severus to their home to share Christmas dinner with them made Severus smile, something he was not known to do often.

Harry seemed happy, talking to George as he passed the mashed potatoes to Arthur, and Severus marveled at how seamlessly Harry fit in with the Weasleys. It was easy to discern the love they had for his son. It was difficult to think that Harry had been through so much in his eighteen years, but Severus knew Harry was a better person for it, and he was so happy that the Weasleys had been there to help him through much of it.

**~*~**

Harry was having more fun than he had had in a long time. He and George were playing Exploding Snap, and Ginny and Ron were playing wizard chess, all of them telling jokes and trying to figure out what new invention George and Ron should make.

"So, you still plan on becoming an Auror, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, if my marks are good enough. I seem to be doing okay. Slughorn is a bit odd this year. I don't think he likes me so much now. I don't know, maybe he blames me for Dumbledore dying. It's odd, but Severus has helped me more with Potions than Slughorn. Last month he even bought me a set of research books that have helped a lot."

"So you're okay with him being your dad?" George asked.

"He's not my dad, George. I only have one dad, and that was James Potter. Severus is my father, and yes, I am more than okay with it." And it was the truth. There were so many things wrong in the world that were so much more important than what he was facing, so why should Harry be upset with something that he had no control over? He had accepted Severus into his life, and earlier when everyone had been eating Christmas dinner, Harry knew that Severus and he would be fine. They would probably never be as close as most fathers and sons were, but they would be as close as Severus and Harry could be.

**~*~**

As soon as he awoke, Harry knew there was something different. Taking a deep breath, he stood and looked down at his body, and then looked over at Ron's bed, thankful he was still asleep; this was one of those moments Harry wanted to experience alone.

He was going to be okay. Whatever he looked like, he was going to be the same as he was before. Walking into the bathroom, he looked into the mirror and saw the boy he had been born to be, staring back at him. It was not the person Harry knew himself to be, but it was him -- it was Harry.

He would always be Harry Potter, no matter what he looked like.

**~*~ Epilogue ~*~**

Harry stood back and looked at the tree.

"There's something missing. What could it be?" Harry asked in an exaggerated voice.

"I know, Daddy. The star -- the star needs to go on top."

"Right you are, Colin. Why don't you let Avum* help you place it where it goes?" Harry smiled as Severus picked up his grandson and handed the star to him.

There was still a noticeable tremor in Severus's hands as he held the star, but it was nothing near as bad as it had been in the months following Severus's attack. For the most part, Severus was now able to function as he had before Nagini bit him, but Harry could tell that fatigue plagued Severus more each year; it had not stopped Severus from leading a normal life, however, and it never would.

Harry grinned at Severus, and then at his son, who was looking expectantly at his grandfather, one of his little hands playing with Severus's hair, the other, holding the star.

"Now Colin Potter will place the star on top, and our Christmas tree will be complete," said Severus as he lifted Colin so he could reach the top.

When his son was back on the ground, Harry picked him up and looked at the tree, then at Severus. "The two of you did very well; it's the best tree we've ever had."

"Daddy, the tree is green, just like my eyes."

"That they are, and you have the most beautiful eyes in the world, you do. You look so like your grandmother Lily."

"Do I, Avum?"

"You do. Your eyes are exactly as hers were -- they are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. Your grandmother also had red hair just like you. Your nose is almost exactly as hers was. Oh, and you have the most amazing smile, the same one she had -- brightens the room."

Setting his son down, Harry turned to Severus, and there was a moment that passed between them. Nothing was said, but Harry knew what Severus was thinking. Once upon a time, not so long ago, Harry had been the one with those eyes, and they had been the last thing Severus had requested to see before he died. Those eyes were no longer green, but black, and as much as he and Severus had needed them to be green then, now those same eyes being black seemed so much more important.

Returning from his thoughts, Harry looked from his father to his son, and marveled at how much his life had changed in the past ten years. He had been through a lot in his life, but it had all been worth it. His family no longer consisted of James, Lily and Harry, but he did have a family. He had married the most wonderful person in the world, he had a son who was everything Harry had ever wanted, and he had a father who loved him. It was this last member who continued to show Harry how love and acceptance could change a person.

When Harry looked into the mirror these days, he was a younger version of Severus Snape and Lily Potter combined, and he was happy. To be sure, there were days he lamented his lost messy black hair and his need for glasses, but what he had learned and was still learning was that appearances were not everything. It really was what was within that mattered, and inside Harry was that little boy who had been riding a broomstick a few inches off the floor, his mum and dad looking on, proud; he was the eleven year old boy who had arrived at Hogwarts with no idea what was to come; he was the seventeen-year-old who had faced death and survived; he was the eighteen-year-old who had found out Severus Snape was his father.

He was Harry James Potter.

He was the boy in the mirror.

**~*~ ** **The** ** End ~*~**

*_Avum__ \-- grandfather in Latin_


End file.
